A tweet-up for coffee

It’s amazing the interesting characters you can meet when you stop for a cuppa on a long walk. Last Friday’s was particularly unusual...

Whilst you were pondering why anyone would choose to write a newspaper column about their new phone, last Friday I was up bright and early for a 7 mile walk, and already a comfortable distance from home by the time I would normally have been arriving at work to an aura of impending doom emanating from my email InBox.

3 miles in, I decided to reward myself with a cappuccino at the local garden centre, and was first through the door for a rejuvenating cup of caffeine and frothy cow juice.

So rapidly had I completed the first part of my journey that I had the pick of the seats, and opted for one outside. Having overdressed for the conditions as usual, a bit of cool, fresh, morning air seemed like a good idea – that and my paranoia at several staff all staring at me if I stayed inside.

I had only been sat down long enough to realise that the stabbing sensation I was experiencing was keys in my back pocket, when out of nowhere I was joined by a slightly scruffy stranger, wearing a bright red top, and clearly with no concept of personal space. There were loads of free tables – why my one?

We stared at each other for what was probably seconds but felt like hours, whilst I assumed the uninvited guest would simply up and wander off. Instead, he just stared at me, unblinking.

There was something about him which seemed very familiar. Had I seen him before in the winter? After a while, I politely asked “What do you want, then?” It seemed like a reasonable question, but the occupant of the chair next to me just stared back.

10 minutes passed. We were still just looking at each other, whilst my hard-earned coffee slowly went cold. In the end, I had to mutter “I’m just going to drink this, OK?” and grab my cup for a sip.

Not quite sure what to do next, I picked up my phone to have a look at Twitter, painfully conscious that my mystery partner was just inches away from me. At that very moment, he decided to start tweeting too, whilst keeping a watchful eye on me.

I already felt more relaxed that when we had first met just minutes before. He seemed harmless enough, and to be fair, he could sit where he wanted. Maybe he lived here.

Finally, some more people arrived in search of an early morning brew, and my new friend left as suddenly as he had arrived.

Still, I guess I should be honoured. It’s not every day you’re given a private audience with Robin, Britain’s National Bird. I suspect he was more interested in the possibility of some crumbs than my company, but it’s nice when someone sings you a song without being asked.

Thanks for keeping me company.

This post hopefully appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 26th of May 2015. It's now a month since any of my columns have shown up on their website, and I haven't seen the print edition yet, so... who knows?

I'm not alone though - their Columns page hasn't been updated since the start of the month. Keep an eye out for updates here, if you fancy. I'm not going to make you or anything.

I did enjoy my Robin encounter, and haven't embellished it - I could have touched him, he was that close. I guess he's used to hanging around for delicious crumbs or unattended leftovers. A bit like me at a buffet.

In an interesting development, the NWEM have asked m to supply a new picture for my column header, so soon you won't have to look at a 3 year old photo of me, but can usefully determine how much older and balder I look. Who knows - if we keep this up, one day you'll be able to cut them out and make a small flip-book and watch me get old before your eyes, a bit like I have to every morning in the bathroom mirror.

(Creeping towards the end of the CD singles collection, with a spot of White Town from '97. From the "Your Woman" single, I'm currently getting all 90s glowstick-y to "Theme For A Late-Night Documentary About The Dangers Of Drug Abuse". Woo! Yeah!)

A fisful of change at the shops

A recent day out reminded me how much the retail experience has altered during my lifetime – and it’s not all good. I could stop typing this, and buy a fridge, in a matter of seconds. The shops are shut and it’s 9pm, but I could still place the order and arrange delivery. I haven’t got to wander round a white-goods retail emporium trying to work out which slightly different version of something that keeps my cider cold is better. It’ll be cheaper, too. But in amongst the convenience, endless choice and bargains, we’ve lost some of the personal, human, touches that used to make a trip to the shops something more than just a daily chore. Last weekend, we visited a local coastal town. Amongst the shops selling over-priced imported home accessories (who doesn’t need another roughly-hewn wooden heart, poorly painted and a bargain at £10?) was one that looked different. It’s window allowed you to see in, rather than being plastered with stick-on graphics and special offers calling ...

Making an exhibition of yourself

Now and again, it’s good to reaffirm that you’re a (relatively) normal human being. One excellent way of doing this is to go to a business exhibition. Despite what you might have surmised from reading my previous columns, I am employable, and even capable of acting like a regular person most of the time, even joining in the Monday morning conversation about the weather over the weekend, and why (insert name of footyballs manager here) should be fired immediately. The mug! True, there are times, often involving a caffeine deficiency, where it is like having the distilled essence of ten moody teenagers in the room, but I try and get that out of the way when people I genuinely like aren’t around to see it. As part of my ongoing experiment with what others call ‘working’, my ‘job’ involves me occasionally needing to go and see what some of my colleagues get up to outside the office, and what our competitors do to try and make sure that they do whatever my colleagues do better than ...

Shouting in the social media mirror

It was always tricky to fit everything you wanted into the intentionally short character count of Twitter, especially when, like me, you tend to write ridiculously long sentences that keep going on and on, with no discernible end in sight, until you start wondering what the point was in the first place. The maximum length of a text message originally limited a tweet to 140 characters, due to it being a common way to post your ramblings in Twitter’s early days. Ten years later, we’ve largely consigned texting to the tech dustbin, and after a lot of angst, the social media platform’s bigwigs have finally opted to double your ranting capacity to 280. Responses ranged from “You’ve ruined it! Closing my account!” to the far more common “Meh” of modern disinterest. As someone rightly pointed out, just because you have twice as much capacity doesn’t mean you actually have to use it. It is, of course, and excellent opportunity to use the English language correctly and include punctuat...

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